


Stay

by JaybirdSpectacular



Series: Thief/Stay [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (much later), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Beta Read, Car Accidents, Fade to Black, Fluff, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury Recovery, M/M, Medication, Mutual Pining, Notes included on part 1, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, a lot of yearning fluff and pining for 5 chapters, can be read stand alone, so much pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 21:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30045000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaybirdSpectacular/pseuds/JaybirdSpectacular
Summary: Several moons ago, Dedue met his soulmate in the most unexpected of ways, and since then, Ashe and his two siblings have stayed with Dedue in his home. Now, with Ashe’s younger siblings going off on their own, it is time for Ashe to leave, as well. It’s what Ashe needs for his own life.Dedue realizes, however, as their relationship grows, that he doesn’t want Ashe to go, that he wants Ashe tostay. But does heneedAshe to stay? That is a question he doesn’t have an answer for. Not yet.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Series: Thief/Stay [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2208702
Kudos: 5





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a follow up to The Thief!  
> Please enjoy the establish relationship soulmate AU that's somehow also a slow burn. 
> 
> This should be able to be read stand-alone, but it does make quite a few call-backs to Thief.  
> Here is a quick summary of Thief, in case you'd rather just jump into this:
> 
> Dedue is awoken one night by the sounds of of a thief breaking into his cafe. It turns out to be Ashe, stealing food for his siblings when he can't afford it. They chat, Dedue offers to let Ashe and his siblings stay with him, and then they discover they are soulmates. Soulmates in this AU are indicated by names written on the arm, the ink the color of the other's eyes, and the handwriting in their soulmates handwriting. They agree to take the relationship slow.

The bell chimes as the front door of Wayward Souls Café opens, letting in a fresh gust of crisp spring air and one Ashe Ubert, former (failed) thief and Dedue’s unexpectedly met soulmate. There are fabric shopping bags slung over his arms and back, bulky and heavy with produce from a successful trip to the local farmer’s market.

There are three (3) problems that Dedue has with this:

  1. The bags look heavy, and he worries that Ashe may strain himself. However:
  2. The bags look heavy, but Ashe isn’t struggling the least bit. Quite the opposite, in fact, as he seems to glide across the floor, his step light, his countenance cheery.
  3. The bags look heavy, and Ashe has the short sleeves of his black shirt rolled up, becoming a makeshift tank top.



Ashe could be wearing that shirt and only that shirt for all Dedue cares. Dedue’s eyes are drawn fully to Ashe’s solid shoulders, to Dedue’s own name written on Ashe’s bare right forearm, the teal ink a perfect reflection of Dedue’s own looping handwriting and eye color. He swallows down the swell of pride that comes with seeing his name and knowing he has Ashe’s name on his own arm. Another feeling, warm and ticklish, bubbles in its place. A feeling he hasn’t yet voiced to Ashe.

Several greetings and ‘good mornings’ ring out as Ashe ducks under the counter, taking his market spoils to the kitchen. They each get a chipper ‘hello’ back. Dedue opens the kitchen door for him. Ashe smiles appreciatively and whispers a ‘thanks’ as he sweeps by. It’s only a brush of skin, still too far to call a proper touch. Not nearly as close as Dedue would like. A tingling sensation trickles across the name written on his arm, light and airy and joyful, when their eyes meet.

Dedue stares too long into the kitchen after him, just appreciating the fact that Ashe is there. The urge to follow him in, shut the door, and draw him close is overwhelming. He’s craving more time alone with his soulmate even though they already spent a quiet morning together, taking breakfast in the near silence of the early hour.

Dedue bites down the urge, pushing it away. He’ll save it for another time.

“Better close that mouth before you catch a fly,” Sylvain goads from where he sits at the counter, watching Dedue with sly glee over the rim of his black mug full of blacker coffee. The door swings shut as Dedue drops his hand far too quickly to be natural. “I promise you, there are far tastier things in your own kitchen.” Dedue mumbles his discontent in Duscurian at Sylvain. Despite his own limited understanding of the language, Sylvain laughs. Sylvain would at least know _those_ words. (Words that Ashe has yet to learn in his own Duscurian language studies.) “Dedue! Do you kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Dedue mumbles, monotonous and too quickly, the habit already ingrained in him. The immediate answer is always prepared to dive off his tongue. Looking at Sylvain now will be a mistake. Dedue knows well the besmirching look that will be in those brown eyes, the mirth written into his pupils and slanted grin.

Dedue looks anyway. Sylvain beams and tucks a lock of his red hair behind his ear, cocks his head, winks. “But you want him to be, hmm? Want to be all domestic and sweet? You’re too cute, Dedue, you know that?”

Face heating up, Dedue burns hotly. He wonders if the metal earring in his left ear, half of the pair his parents had gifted him and his sister, would be warm to the touch. For no discernable reason, that thought pole-vaults his mind into thinking of taking his earring off, hanging it on Ashe. Maybe cloaking him in any number of Dedue’s things: his earrings and rings, his clothes, his sheets, himself—

Dedue gulps as Sylvain laughs.

The thought backs off, slowly easing itself into the trunk of Dedue’s mind where he is locking away all these irrepressible ideas. Before closing the lid over itself, it peeks out with a mischievous glimmer in its eye. There is a joke here that Dedue is missing. Thoughts tumble and trip over themselves to figure it out—

It hits him so squarely in the chest, Sylvain might have to pick Dedue back up off the ground.

It occurs to Dedue just how large and loose that shirt is on Ashe. Dedue scrapes at the edge of his memory, trying to recall seeing Ashe in it before. He already knows the answer. Dedue hadn’t recognized it at first. It’s just a plain black shirt, but he realizes that it’s _his_ plain black shirt. Ashe took it _knowingly,_ and he dressed himself in it _willingly_. It fits over Ashe in the most perfect of ways. Loose, flowing, showcasing Ashe’s lithe muscles. Teasing how he would fit perfectly against Dedue.

Dedue’s eyes flicker to the kitchen, where Ashe is putting away the produce, maybe cleaning up a mess or two. In Dedue’s mind, he sees Ashe moving confidently from task to task, that shirt hanging off him like a gold medal Dedue himself won. So, Ashe took Dedue’s shirt, without a peep or permission, as if he had done it countless times before.

 _Had_ he done it before? What does it _mean_? It doesn’t mean anything, probably. But what if it does? A thousand questions conflict in Dedue’s mind, but one thing is sure. If, several moons prior, Dedue thought his bond would be purely platonic with Ashe, he would have been completely wrong. He feels himself falling harder day by day.

Before his spiraling thoughts land in some wilderness he and Ashe aren’t ready to navigate yet, a scratching noise across the counter breaks his concentration. Sylvain, with a full cheeky grin, pushes a plastic water bottle towards Dedue.

“You look like you could use this, Romeo.” Sylvain’s caramel-coated tone drips with warm amusement onto Dedue’s clean floor, his smug grin far too-knowing for Dedue’s liking.

Dedue takes the bottle in hand, gripping it until the plastic crinkles, unsure if he should throw it at Sylvain, chug it, or pour the whole damn thing over his own overheating head.

\----

Wayward Souls is, in Dedue’s unbiased opinion, the perfect place for the gathering of its namesake. It’s for the strange, the outsiders, the ones who feel lost and frightened. It’s for those who need a home away from home, somewhere to go when they need someone and no one in particular.

Dedue scans the room, looking out over the customers and friends who have come this afternoon. His heart swells with pride at each satisfied face he sees.

Lysithea is in her usual plush reading chair. A selection of three cakes (which is on the board as the ‘LySpecial-ithea’) are laid out on the patterned wooden table in front of her. Books with the word ‘theoretical’ in their title are scattered haphazardly. Cyril sits in the matching chair opposite hers, face in a comic book, his own spiced cake long demolished (a favorite shared with both Dedue and Claude).

Bernadetta is (possibly) in her cubby. It’s a nook in the deepest corner under the stairwell, blocked off by a thick blanket woven with greens, browns, and oranges that reflect the color scheme of the rest of the café. There is a plaque labeled “Bernie’s Secret Corner” that hangs over it, deftly protecting the secret of her hideaway. Occasionally, he will leave a slice of Bernie’s Favorite Cake (written on the board as such) and will find the correct payment in its place hours later.

Marianne is hiding at a table closer to the back, set up with a comfortable armchair and ample pillows, quietly paging through a religious text. When Dedue is alone, she will come sit and chat softly with him. Unfortunately, he is not blessed with her company, as he is cursed with another’s.

Sylvain typically, as he did this morning and does again this afternoon, keeps Dedue company (read: annoys him) at the high-topped counter. He’s always fidgeting, spinning back and forth in the swiveling stool. He holds yet another mug of coffee in his hands. It should be concerning how much coffee the man drinks, yet Dedue keeps serving him anyway, if for nothing than a grotesque curiosity of Sylvain’s absolute limit.

He takes a deep, calming breath full of the bright spices he uses in his dishes and drinks and desserts. The comforting smell is ingrained in the very wood of the place. He thinks of Chiara’s bubbling delight when she comes to visit, always commenting on the aroma of home the moment she walks in the door. Unfortunately, visits from his dear sister are infrequent as she travels the world. He hopes, looking around now with pride and loneliness at all her photographs on the walls, that she will come again soon. That she will bring him the recipes she’s collected and add some new pictures to their home.

The thought of his own younger sibling seemingly summons the ones who currently take residence in this building. The bell chimes violently with their entrance.

Ashe’s younger siblings, the twins Liv and Ley, are near identical clones of their older brother. Unlike Ashe, they take far too much pleasure in playfully bothering Dedue. Currently in their last stretch of high school, unimportant scant weeks to go, they are anxious to begin their university lives. Both were accepted by their mutual school of choice with full scholarships.

The moment they told Ashe is a snapshot pinned on a corkboard in Dedue’s mind. Dedue will never forget Ashe’s glowing expression, full of relief and elation. The twins will be able to take care of themselves, freeing Ashe from so many of his responsibilities and obligations.

Over the past four moons, Dedue and Ashe haven’t spoken much about what will happen after the twins’ departure. The topic has been swept under one of the many ornate rugs, and Dedue cannot remember which one. They have danced around the matter, avoided it, ignored it. Pushed it to the back corner where it probably cowers with Bernie.

But one thing is clear from their agreement months ago, from Ashe’s constant assurances that he will move on and pay Dedue back, from the search history on Dedue’s laptop full of job listings. Ashe will be leaving as soon as he can. And Dedue wants him to go, wants him to start his own life, but…

Dedue can’t be distracted by the thought now and instead must brace for impact. The twins take their places at Dedue’s counter, backpacks on the floor, one silver-haired monster on each side of Sylvain. Sylvain ruffles Ley’s hair. Ley puffs his cheeks out in a manner that is so like Ashe, it’s cute. He knows it, too.

“Dedue,” starts Ley, smoothing his hair back out as he bats his eyelashes, tone fake-saccharine like a sugar substitute.

“No.” Dedue turns his back to fiddle with a coffee machine, avoiding their piercing gazes. They remind him far too much of his own sister, and they play his older brother sensibilities like a fiddle. These pint-sized demons know it’s easier to convince Dedue than their brother to give them what they want. Ashe is immune to them, but Dedue is still weak and vulnerable to their tricks.

Liv lays her hands in her lap, folding them gracefully. “ _I_ wasn’t going to ask for anything, Dedue. Ley is the selfish one here.” She sniffs in indignation, always quick to throw Ley under the bus. Truthfully, he makes it easy. Ley sputters at the betrayal.

Dedue continues to prudently check the intricate coffee-making mechanisms that surely do not need checking. “Since you’re so unselfish, maybe you can help Ley with his Lit homework, and he can help you with Physics. Upstairs. Away from the customers.”

“Dedue,” she starts, tone whiny and bargaining at the same time. Dedue barely hears her. A sudden, quick annoyance flitters through him, there and gone again so quickly he isn’t sure he even felt anything. He doesn’t have a chance to think about it.

With an aggressive swish, the kitchen door flies open. The soft click of it swinging back and forth draws four pairs of eyes to the fury of an older brother who knows his siblings are up to no-good. Ashe slides next to Dedue, a pleasant smile on his face. A chill radiates from him, plummeting the space around him into sub-zero temperatures. Liv and Ley (and Sylvain) flinch before he even begins to speak.

“I checked the clock and realized, wow, Liv and Ley should be home, doing their work! What’s that called again, Dedue?”

“I believe the term is ‘homework’, Ashe.”

“Right! Silly me for getting that confused, because whenever you two come home, it’s time for ‘home-bother Dedue for snacks’!” He huffs, crossing his arms, staring his brother and sister down.

“But lunch was so long ago…” Ley turns his begging gaze to Ashe. Ashe’s expression darkens considerably.

“And I’ll make dinner soon—Dedue, I’m doing it tonight, don’t you dare—” He turns his head, wagging a finger at Dedue. Dedue nods his agreement. Satisfied, Ashe turns back to his siblings. “And until then, you know what makes time fly? Any guesses?”

“Is it eating cherry danishes?” Ley whispers to Sylvain, not taking his eyes from Ashe’s intense glare.

“I don’t think so, bud.” Sylvain smirks, resting his head in his hand.

Dedue leans down, cupping a hand so that he can stage-whisper to Ashe. “Is it doing their homework?”

Ashe flashes a quick smile at him, the sudden softness directed at Dedue and only Dedue. “That’s right, Dedue!” Gaze back on his siblings, Ashe’s eyes take on a frightening, venomous shade despite the permanent, pleasant smile. “So maybe you two should get to it.”

It’s not a question, and both siblings (and Sylvain) wince, but Ley just has to open his mouth again. “But we really do need help, and if we’re down here, you _and Dedue_ can help us!”

Dedue raises a brow. “And Dedue?”

“It’s math!” Ley gestures vaguely at his brother. “And you know, it’s Ashe.”

Ashe narrows his eyes. “I’ll have you know, I passed the math portion of my exams just fine.”

Shortly after he began working, Ashe decided to test for his high school equivalency certificate. He balanced studying with working full hours despite Dedue’s insistence to take it easy. Ashe wouldn’t, of course. Dedue sometimes found him in the morning passed out at a table or on the couch, surrounded by books. He would always be ready with a fresh cup of coffee to wake Ashe.

It was just last moon that Ashe passed the test.

It was just last moon that Dedue first noticed the job listings.

“And if we stay down here with Dedue and the danishes,” Ley barges on, ignoring Ashe, “he can help us!”

Ashe simply glares. Ley holds his gaze pace for pace. The three others wait patiently for someone to break, someone to snap. It’s almost never Ashe, but still, Ley tries valiantly.

Sylvain snorts, snapping the tension. “Okay, time for me to intervene, lucky for you, I’m great at math and have some time.”

“I don’t mind if you use the upstairs. In fact, I insist. It would clear up some counter space.” Dedue pointedly looks at Liv, who has retrieved her books and started working. It’s a deceitful trick, making her seem diligent. In reality, it is only a front. She grins cheekily. Sylvain flips Liv’s book closed, making her jump. She huffs at him.

“Sylvain, you are a life-saver,” Ashe says to him cheerily, gratefully, before rolling his glare back to his siblings. “You have five minutes – five – to clean the room enough that Dedue and I aren’t so embarrassed we can never speak to Sylvain again.” Without taking his eyes off the smaller Uberts, he goes to the glass display case and removes a single cherry danish. “And if you don’t, or if you give Sylvain any amount of grief, you will never have another one of these again.” He takes a chomping bite of the sweet and swallows as Liv and Ley pale. “Go.”

They scramble away and up the stairs with no small amount of noise to the apartment Dedue shares with them. Somehow, it is enough space for all four of them; there is a mini-kitchen upstairs, a bathroom, and a living room that doubles as Dedue’s bedroom. His bed is pushed against the window. The three siblings stay in Chiara’s old room. There is only a single bed. Liv claimed it from the start, but it wasn’t much trouble finding floor mattresses for the other two. Because Chiara’s room has a door, Dedue figured it would provide the space and separation they needed to live together comfortably.

It isn’t any tighter of a squeeze than before, when Dedue’s parents were still around. It’s comforting, in a way.

Dedue sometimes wakes to see Ashe sprawled out on the large living room couch. Not that he minds the view in the morning. It’s hard to take his eyes off Ashe’s face, still asleep and unaware and tranquil. It’s harder to not imagine waking up next to Ashe, intertwined together in Dedue’s bed. Harder yet to not imagine kissing those softly parted lips awake and alive.

Now Ashe’s expression is anything but tranquil as his glare follows them up the stairs. The instant he turns back to Dedue, his mint green eyes soften. His smile is apologetic. Dedue is drawn in by how beautiful he looks simply standing there, still wearing Dedue’s shirt, nibbling absentmindedly at the pastry in his hand. Ashe cocks his head curiously. Dedue can only stare, trying to choose something to say, some way to express the warm feelings that travel along his nerves without overdoing it.

Sometimes, they say, soulmates can feel each other’s emotions and feelings when they have grown close enough. Dedue isn’t an idiot; he knows _something_ is changing between him and Ashe for the better. But Dedue is afraid. He’s afraid that his feelings will bleed over before he can even say them. That Ashe will know, that Ashe won’t be ready, that this careful dynamic they’ve cultivated will shatter.

 _You’re so gone,_ says that annoying little voice that hasn’t gone away since the night they met.

Suddenly, Ashe’s eyes widen, and he gasps. “Oh, Saint Seiros, I did it again.” He looks between the danish, Dedue, and the danish again before taking another shameless bite. He holds it out to Dedue. “Could I interest you in a half-eaten pastry?” He chuckles nervously. Dedue raises a brow, a smirk tugging at his cheeks that he won’t give into. He gets his reward; a faint blush rises beneath Ashe’s freckles.

“I’ll… add it to my tab.” Ashe finishes it in two bites.

He takes a step closer to Dedue, his mouth opening to say something, but Dedue notices a smudge of powdered sugar on the corner of Ashe’s lips. Thoughtlessly, casually, Dedue lifts a hand to wipe it off with his thumb. Ashe freezes in place. Dedue’s fingers brush Ashe’s jaw and cheek. He lingers, lightly cupping Ashe’s face in his hand. Electricity races through him, addicting. That familiar mix of anxiety and joy and home travels along his nerves, dancing along each letter of Ashe’s mint-green name. For all the height that Dedue has on Ashe, Dedue feels small and trapped under Ashe’s pointed gaze. Ashe’s bright eyes are on Dedue’s, blinking, the very edge of a question unspooling in the inky depths of his dilating pupils—

Sylvain clears his throat. The magic is shattered, scattered across the floor like glass and spices. Like the glass and spices Ashe himself spilt last winter when he broke in, both into the café and Dedue’s heart.

They split apart. Their orbits had drawn closer than Dedue realized. Ashe smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand, face bright with blush.

“Huh, well, I guess I’ll…” he mumbles. He goes back to the kitchen, his movements stiff and mechanical. Dedue watches him, concerned, and _only_ concerned. He’s not trying to drink in as much of Ashe _still in his shirt_ as he can, not at all memorizing the lines of his smooth arm muscles. A steadying breath in. He turns to Sylvain’s shit-eating grin, ignores the curious looks of all the other customers. Embarrassment simmers in Dedue. He wonders if it really is only his.

“Oh, _Dedue_.” Sylvain’s tone is syrupy sweet in that way it is when Sylvain is about to start _something._ Dedue cannot handle _something_ right now.

“Sylvain,” Dedue warns simply, his tone weary and heavy.

“You know—”

“I don’t, nor do I want to.”

Sylvain keeps talking anyway, lacing his fingers together to prop his chin on. “You two make great parents.”

Dedue frowns in a way that he reserves for Sylvain. Pressured by the heavy look, Sylvain slips off his stool with a wink and heads up the stairs. It hasn’t been five minutes, but Sylvain won’t tell on the twins if something is just slightly out of place. Knowing him, he’ll probably tidy and rearrange everything himself, anyway.

Quiet settles again in the café, the ambient noises of plates clinking, pages turning, the occasional hushed whisper taking over again. Time passes. Petra comes in, orders a tea, and joins Bernie in her hiding place. Lysithea and Cyril leave. A few new faces cycle in and out, visitors who may someday become regulars and part of this place’s family. Dedue loses himself in the work, changing with Ashe rhythmically, baton-passing off tasks. They seamlessly switch between cooking and running the front. A dance they’ve practiced and mastered in only a few moons.

 _Soulmates_ , he’s reminded again and again.

It feels like Ashe has woven himself into the fabric of the shop. He knows everyone’s names, most of their favorites, what to ask and chat about. He can recreate most of the basic recipes with near perfect precision, following Dedue’s instructions cleanly and carefully. With Ashe here, the café has begun to morph into a new stage of life.

Dedue remembers the café when his parents ran it. They opened it shortly after leaving Duscur. It was filled with love, warm and bright. Flowers his father grew and gave to his mother were scattered everywhere. The walls were decorated with family portraits and landscapes of Duscur.

He remembers how dark and empty it felt without them.

He remembers struggling, fighting to hold on to it when he was only freshly eighteen. It was his right to have this place. Yet he _couldn’t_. He couldn’t do it all. He was still just a kid. The café struggled to stay afloat. There was only so much his friends could do to help. It was only him and Chiara.

He remembers Chiara’s soft sobs as he tried, he _tried_ so hard to protect her. To protect their home. To keep it theirs.

They fell into debt. He didn’t know what he could do.

Not until one day, he found a box of recipes from his mother, dishes from Duscur and beyond, a mix she curated herself. He had learned from his parents, of course, but with this, he knew he could save the café. He _had_ to. He recreated each and every recipe with his own flair.

Slowly, little by little, the café gained popularity. The mix of worldly cuisines appealed to a large crowd. The Duscur dishes brought them back again and again. Eventually, he could pay off his debt.

The café was his and Chiara’s again.

And then she left. He was alone. Which is okay, it is not his place to ask anyone to stay. She is happily traveling the globe as their mother once did. She is living the life she wants to, on her own terms. Dedue wants nothing more than that for the people he loves.

Truthfully, Dedue had once been considering hiring others. But he promised himself he wouldn't ask for help again. And he worked too hard to get this place running and under his control.

It seems wrong, after all the work and tears and uncertainty, to ask for help now. To reveal that maybe, maybe, he doesn’t have everything under control.

(“That pride of yours!” Chiara would tease and scold, “You need to let someone in. You need to let someone help you.”)

His dream is successfully running the café that his parents loved so much. His dream is offering a safe space to those who need it. Supporting those who are weak, just like he once was.

Is it selfish if he asks someone to help with his own dream? Is it selfish to want someone else to support his dream? He has seen himself as a tower, tall and unbreakable both in body and heart, ever since he cared for Chiara alone. He wants to be reliable for those he cares for. He wonders if that is why he and Ashe were chosen for each other, why their bond feels so natural. They’re not so dissimilar, after all. He wants Ashe to know that he can rely on Dedue.

(“You can’t do it alone,” Chiara had warned.)

Well, he had. He did. He does. He was and is perfectly fine.

But that was before Ashe broke into his kitchen. Before Ashe stole away those lingering reservations, took a place for himself in the café. In Dedue’s home. In his life. A temporary addition that would leave a permanent mark on the café’s memory. And on Dedue. Even if Ashe has never gotten over his embarrassment, Dedue is glad that they met when and how they did. Dedue is glad that Ashe is here now.

So, while Dedue remembers each stage of the café’s life until now, he can’t imagine what it will be like when Ashe leaves. When Ashe finally, without crushing burdens restraining him, goes out and finds his own path.

They agreed the day after they met that Ashe would stay until his siblings moved out. Maybe a little longer, but not much more. Ashe has talked about all the different paths his life can take now. Ashe wants to find his own way for his life— and Dedue wants that, too.

He does, truly.

Dedue will soon be alone in the café once again. It’s been nice to have Ashe’s help— the work has been far easier. It’s given Dedue time to actually relax, to have some slow mornings when Ashe would be up and about before him. To have comfortable evenings together. To get to know each other, like they had promised those four moons ago.

No, Dedue doesn’t _need_ Ashe’s help. Still, he sees Ashe working in Dedue’s kitchen, at his counter, learning his recipes, studying his first language, existing harmoniously in his space. When he looks at Ashe like this, Dedue wonders what the difference is between need and want.

In the deepest corners of his heart, Dedue buries all his worries and stress. He conceals the selfish thoughts he won’t dare speak aloud. A single secret is tucked away behind the trunk filled with his wild thoughts of Ashe’s soft, tousled hair, his charming smile. Of those starry night sky freckles. Of those crystal bright eyes, the same spring color as the name written on Dedue’s arm. Behind all that, he keeps a single, vain wish, deeply nestled and safe from prying eyes.

Dedue doesn’t want Ashe to leave.

He wants Ashe to stay, and stay, and stay.

He won’t ask. And Ashe won’t stay.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been whittling away at this for quite a bit, so I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> The entire work is completed and has been through edits, but I want to give each chapter thorough polishing before posting, so expect updates between a few days and a week (hopefully).
> 
> [Find me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/JaybirdSpec)
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!


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